The Liar Series
by Adamina
Summary: The bells above the entrance always seemed to make a different sound whenever she pranced in. But no God in heaven or hell would wrench that admission from him. "And you believe it's absolutely impossible for me to go a day without speaking with you."
1. Liar

_Disclaimer: I do not own Sailor Moon_

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><p><em><strong>Liar.<strong>_

"Whatcha doin'?"

Mamoru looked up from his scribbled notes, eyes sparking with a vague annoyance previous to landing on her, in which they promptly turned to a startling shade of astonishment when he realized she wasn't a hair's breath away from him?

"What?"

"What," she said emphatically, "'cha doin'?"

"Ah…" He breathed in slightly, hoping that that very act would put some sort of thinking gap between them, but only succeeded in breathing in her enveloping scent. "Nothing."

One golden brow lifted, skeptical. "I don't believe you."

Mamoru matched one brow lift and raised it one dry glance. "And in what way does that matter to me?"

Usagi's sigh was heavy, long and suffering. Her eyes rolled and when they landed back on him the look she gave was one that said, 'liar-liar' without adding the 'pants-on-fire' part. Reclining in the seat opposite of him, she folded her arms on the table and laid her cheek on her arms, eyes still watching his.

"What," she repeated, adding more annunciation to the 't', "are you doing?"

"What," he mimicked, "do you think I'm doing?"

"I think that you're writing a love letter."

Mamoru went still, body in absolute suspension, while his eyes locked hold with Usagi's. "And…" he coughed, just in the back of his throat, "what makes you think that?"

Again, her brow cocked all-knowing. "Because I walked in that door ten minutes ago and not once did you stand to initiate our daily arguments." With that, she lifted her head only to lay it back down on her other cheek.

He'd known when she walked in that door. The bells above the entrance always seemed to make a different sound whenever she pranced in. But no God in heaven or hell would wrench that admission from him. "And you believe it's absolutely impossible for me to go a day without speaking with you."

She didn't even blink when she said, "Yes."

To that, he had no reply.

"But even so, that is not what compelled me to come over here of my own free will."

"You woo me with your compliments, Odango."

She grimaced at the name. "I noticed," she continued after a heated glower, "that tomorrow is Valentine_'_s Day."

"No one can pull the wool over your eyes."

Idiot. "And I saw you scribbling frantically in this here notebook," –to which said notebook promptly got shut— "and I thought, gee, Mamoru has a sweetheart!" To the average eye, one might say that the blonde 'Odango' was ecstatic at the prospect of the renowned, suave, drop-dead gorgeous and always calm, cool and collected Chiba Mamoru being swayed by a female. To the naked one, of course, one knew better.

Still being the calm, cool, and collected Chiba Mamoru of KO University, the notorious stud simply hummed in his throat and leaned back on the booth with not a word to say.

Usagi drummed her fingers on the table. "So?"

"So, what?"

"So are you?"

"So am I what?"

"Mamoru," she growled.

He sighed, straightening his jacket and wondering if there was any possible position that could be comfortable when a fourteen year old rabbit was interrogating you. "Well, being the all-knowing Odango today, why don't you tell me?"

The corners of her eyes crinkled, aggravated. "I can't read your mind, Mamoru-baka."

"You seemed capable two seconds ago."

"Don't be silly. I can't read your mind any more than you can read mine." Irritation laced her tone at the possibility of not getting any answers out of him. Tomorrow _was_ Valentine's Day, after all.

All thoughts, however, flew from her head when his hands reached for her chin, angling it so that their faces were in perfect symmetry to each other. His eyes bore into hers, stimulating a blaze of fire and twisting her heart into her throat so that it was utterly impossible for air to enter or escape. Her lips trembled when his gaze flicked down to them, her tongue aching to lick the dryness away. Then it jumped back to hers and stared with such a concentrated force that every drop of blood in her body rushed to her cheeks and swarmed her face, leaving her eyes sparkling.

Then, ever so slowly, he let go. As his fingers loiter over her jaw line, Mamoru's eyes skimmed over her wide, stunned eyes that contrasted the deep flush penetrating her cheeks, then let a deliberate smirk leisure over his face until it turned into a wicked grin.

"Liar."

_End._


	2. Jacket

_AN: Hey you all. I know it's been a while since I've put one of these out, but first it was finals, then it was getting a job, then it was everyone's birthday. Anyhoo, the last three of these drabbles will be rather long. Why? Because I couldn't stop writing. I couldn't rush this 'valentine' series. ^^ Anyhow, I hope you enjoy. For those who get confused, the drabbles: Liar, Jacket, Red String of Destiny, Gift and Valentines are all one story._

_I would like to thank Lavvy for editing these drabbles. There would be none without you :D_

_Disclaimer: I do not own sailor moon._

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><p><strong><em>Jacket.<em>**

It just sat there.

Waiting.

As if it actually expected her to get up and go over to it. As if it, in fact, summoned her in all of its green tweed and crisp cleanliness to truly, essentially, and, in point of fact, _remove_ herself from her seat to dally on over to the third stool from the right, and…

…Touch it.

Which was absolutely ridiculous. Any sane girl in the Eastern hemisphere would rather jump off the edge of the earth than touch that green jacket. The very green jacket that her disdainful adversary wore to the tip of perfection, directly over broad shoulders, muscled arms and one very appealing tan torso every day.

Each and every day.

Usagi scowled, switching her gaze from it to eye the females lingering in the arcade parlour. Blonde, brunette, and… Usagi huffed, red head, along with the rest of the females over the age of puberty did not let the green jacket go unnoticed.

"It belongs to Chiba-san," whispered one. Her russet hair was pulled back into an abominably messy bun, and Usagi wondered, somewhat –her cheeks flushed—nastily, if the girl had even bothered to do her hair that morning.

"Such dreamy eyes..."

"Did you see the way his hair fell in them today?"

"I thought I'd faint when he took off that jacket today. His back practically _rippled_ with muscles."

A swoon chorused through the room, bouncing off all four corners so an echo ricocheted, causing Motoki to quit his constant cleaning to perk his head up, perplexed.

Usagi was in the process of bending her not-so-bendable spoon when one, in all her jubilance, professed, "I just bet," her hand clasped together, "that he left it there for me. Chiba-san never forgets his jacket."

Her head popped up instantly. If somebody were watching her, they might have cause to believe that she was actually eavesdropping on the 'hushed' conversation. Not that she, herself, would notice being watched because the fact of the matter was… The messy haired brunette was right. Mamoru _never_ forgot his jacket.

Earlier that day, she was cemented to her place at the ringing door, frozen in absolute alarm. Sitting in his booth, there, he had been scribbling in his journal –she still had yet to find out what was in that journal- not moving, or speaking, or getting up to taunt her. And, while that alone would cause Usagi a great degree of astonishment, what immobilized her for the whole of two minutes was what he accomplished in two seconds.

He'd just stripped himself of the green thing, something that she might not have been sorry to see if it hadn't been so unlike him to do it. What's more! She had been seated in the Arcade for ten startling minutes, and still he'd insisted on secluding himself with that mysterious notebook until, impatient and utterly anxious, she had to scurry over to find out _why_.

Her heart sizzled at the memory of exactly how that particular meeting ended. The scent of him wafted through her memory.

Heaving a big sigh, Usagi dropped back from her rigid state to slump in her seat, still lounging in the same booth he'd occupied ten minutes before.

Her eyes jumped to the clock, the minute hand moving another centimeter.

Eleven minutes.

And the jacket still sat, taunting her in its place.

Mamoru never forgot his jacket.

"Especially in winter."

The same brunette murmured it. The blonde next to her poked her shoulder. "Well, it _is_ rather warm today. Almost spring." But she fanned herself with a napkin as if her words had another suggestion all together.

"If that jacket is still there in five minutes," a red-head with shiny ringlets whispered, more to herself than to anybody, "I'm going to take it to Chiba-san himself. He'll be so delighted—"

"I'll just take it right now."

"Don't be silly. A lady should always leave a fifteen minute gap between exits before she acquires a man's lost possessions."

"How do you know?"

"Rule of thumb."

Oh, for the love of…Usagi jerked out of her seat, rounding the table in quick steps, until she snatched –gently— the jacket from its content position opposing her. Those hyenas might feel inclined to capture the baka's coat in five minutes, but it wouldn't be here. And neither would she.

" 'Toki," her lower lip pushed out in a sort of pout. "Do you know which way Mamoru-ba…um… Mamoru-san went?"

With the ease only known to natural Arcade managers, Motoki flipped the Sundae beaker upside down, not even watching it as he answered. "Home, I imagine."

Nimble and slim, her fingers pranced on the counter. "And where might home be?"

"Azabu." He frowned at a water stain. Obviously, he mused, the Oxy-dishwasher detergent didn't remove anything except for the transparency of glass. Damn influential commercials…

Usagi was hopping from one foot to the other. She could feel every eye in the room burning holes through her back. She hugged the jacket closer to her body. "Azabu," she repeated. "Which way is that?"

"Hmm?" Sighing at his lost trust in the media, he glanced over at the anxious blonde. "It's—why?"

"I have to find Mamoru-san."

"I thought you hated Mamoru."

"I don't _hate_ Mamoru." His scent was on the jacket, she absently realized. And, it would probably cling to her clothes, even after her mother cleaned it. "I just dislike him with a great amount of emancipation."

"You know 'emancipation' means—"

" 'Toki," her eyes, blue and direct, seared his. The holes burning in her back were slowly disintegrating her resolve to find Mamoru of Azabu, Tokyo. "Mamoru."

His lips twitched at the corners. Although he was utterly smitten and devoted to his beautiful girlfriend, Reika, Usagi's face was so set in determination he couldn't help but stand back for a minute and appreciate. Admire.

In the end however, when the adorable Usagi huffed impatiently, Motoki jerked his thumb to the left, insisted that there were 'signs every where', and moseyed on, whistling a tune under his breath and flipping the beaker back into it's rightful place upon the shelf.

"Signs everywhere," she muttered, utterly lost not five minutes later. Her hand fisted. "I'll give you a sign. Everywhere."

The blonde sighed. "I suppose he doesn't need it back today." She absently kicked at a pebble. "I suppose," she continued, her nose wrinkling as she held up the jacket, "that he doesn't need it back." Her head tilted. "Period." The jacket was, despite its obvious comfort in her arms and the pleasant scent wafting at her senses, not as attractive as its owner.

She nibbled at her lip, then sighed. That was the problem, she mused. Her fingers ran delicately over a seam. The owner was too attractive for his own good. If she was being utterly honest with herself she might even admit that it was not her good morale totally that compelled her to return the forsaken jacket to Mamoru.

She might also admit that, to the third person viewer, her intentions were, in fact, quite obvious.

Tsukino Usagi had the biggest crush on Chiba Mamoru since Romeo met Juliet.

And that, Usagi reflected, her thoughts stinging her heart, made her just like every other girl fawning over him in Juuban. Which was entirely unacceptable. The only girl –correction: _woman_—that Mamoru would ever fall for would be one that was entirely unique and unlike any one he'd ever met.

Which would mean anyone other than her?

Mamoru would never be attracted to her.

Jerk.

"If life wasn't so short, I might be inclined to let you stand there all day."

The voice, so deep and familiar, grabbed at her windpipes.

"Odango."

And then clenched them together.

All of a sudden she didn't want to look up at him. Everything in her body was telling her to give it up, throw the jacket in his general direction and make dodge. Everything, that is, except for the very core of her that cemented her feet to the ground, and forced her traitorous eyes to jerk to his seated form.

It wasn't fair the way the sunset seemed to dance over his face like that, shimmering in his eyes and painting his features to utter beauty. His figure, so broad, demanding and bold sat lazily on that one park bench, his journal –_the_ journal— laid out expectantly on his lap. The whole lot of his aura insisted that he was simply a college student who decided to devote his day to studying. His back was a bit hunched, his hair falling in strands towards the pages, his fingers playing with the paper edges.

But his eyes…Usagi's windpipes deflated. His eyes were only for her.

"Odango?"

The uncertain tone in his question popped her trance like a pin to a bubble. She couldn't stop the blush from swarming her face, but, thank God, managed to work her voice without fluxuating, and her tongue without stuttering.

"Mamoru-kun –er—ba… baka."

Kinda.

"Your jacket!" she announced, hoping to get straight to the point without any questions to her slowly inflaming face.

Still, his eyes took their time leaving her face and floating to the jacket before he allowed a, "So it is," and left it at that.

There was no clock anywhere, no watches or time devices counting minutes nearby, but Usagi could have sworn she heard time ticking by as silence stretched the seconds.

"You left it," she stated. "At the Arcade."

When he didn't say anything, she said, "In the booth."

His smile, confident and stimulating, slyly crept on his face. "Ah, yes." He winked at her, but slowly. "The booth."

His grin was doing wicked things to her nervous system. Before the memory of just what 'the booth' represented could invade her memory she managed to thrust his coat towards him and repeated, "You left it," once through her lips, and once in her mind.

His smile stayed, if not widened. "Yes." His fingers curled at the edges of his book. "I know."

"Yes. You did. And so I took it upon myself to…" she blinked. "You do?"

"Yes. I do."

"You knew you left it at the Arcade."

"Mhmm…" he hummed casually. He flipped a page in his journal, let his gaze float up to see her peering down at the book, and then, almost in amusement, closed it.

Annoyed, and not a little frustrated with the situation, Usagi grimaced and let her eyes meet his direct ones, then blushed when she realized she'd been caught peeking. _Stupid_, she thought. What he must think of you! … Other than what he already thinks of you, she reminded herself, simultaneously tugging at one of her pigtails.

Nonetheless, he continued to stare at her all too intensely. If she'd known that one look could make her heart pound rapidly in her chest and her nerves tingle with electric butterflies, she'd never had met this man's gaze.

The humming silence wasn't uncomfortable, but still stretched until she felt as if _something_ needed to be said. "Well…" well? "Well, then…" she chewed anxiously at her lip as he continued to sit there, patiently, with all the world's secrets drowning in his eyes. Her fingers skimmed a seam, assembling her thoughts to circle from how amazing soft texture the material was, to what she should say next, until, finally, she realized that the silent man was probably waiting for his coat back.

God, she really was a ditz.

Her face might have been compared to a hot red pepper, so incredibly red was it. Mumbling an apology, she thrust the jacket towards him with a quick, "Anyways, here it is," and got ready to bolt.

Quick and firm, his hand braceleted her wrist before she could take one step. Prepared for a tease, a taunt, anything, her eyes stayed cemented to the icy ground even as he turned her around.

The suddenly heavy weight caught her by surprise, accompanied by the swift warmth and heavenly scent that encircled her instantly. Her eyes shot up to meet his as he was pulling his jacket around her.

"Actually," his voice vibrated into her ears and through her stomach. "I was hoping you'd wear it today."

You did? She didn't actually ask this, but the question continued to thud with her heart, resounding in her ears.

He didn't look at the sky, only in her eyes, when he said, "It looks like rain."

Rain in February?

It wasn't unheard of, but…

He turned his gaze down on her She could have sworn his breath wafted on her lips. This was insane, because he wasn't nearly close enough for anything of his to waft upon her, nonetheless her lips. The thought didn't, however, stop her own breath from trembling.

Not two seconds later was he on his way, the blackness of his turtleneck winking back at her almost, she tilted her head, mockingly. Which was just like him anyway. Usagi scowled. His stride was completely arrogant, both hands filling his pockets as if carrying anything was never something he'd have to worry about.

Her eyebrows curled together at the thought, because he wasn't carrying something. Because, she noticed, just as her head swiveled to the bench he was sitting on, he didn't have his journal –_the _journal—with him.

And neither did the bench. Or the ground. Or anywhere where the journal might have fallen.

It had simply disappeared.

And, when she happened to glance up, absently pulling the jacket closer to her body, there wasn't a storm cloud in the sky.


	3. Red String of Destiny

_AN: I would like to thank Lavvy for editing these drabbles._

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><p><strong>Red String of Destiny.<strong>

She'd looked under the bench. She'd looked over the bench. She looked through the wooden slates of the bench, and glimpsed _over_ the wooden slates of the bench.

But it wasn't there.

So, she scurried within a ten feet diameter of the timber seating. Dirt and frost stained the pleats of her skirts and the winter wind, slowly picking up speed, did nothing to swipe it away. If anybody asked what the blonde bunny was doing, crawling and stumbling around that park bench at that exact hour, it'd be obvious that she was _not_ minding her own business. Then again, if anybody asked what she was doing anyway… Well, it wouldn't be as if _they_ were minding _their_ own businesses either.

Still, it wasn't there.

It wasn't… Anywhere.

The journal, Usagi frowned, had disappeared.

She nearly laughed at herself, nearly rolled her eyes at the whimsical thought. Of course it hadn't disappeared, so to speak. Everything had to be somewhere and, Usagi pulled the rose scented jacket closer to her body, wherever that _somewhere_ was, it evidently enough wasn't within a ten feet vicinity of one park bench.

Her hand brushed at the dirtied folds of her clothing. Not that she was curious in any way. That is, not that she wanted to find the journal for her own benefits. Of course not! Tsukino Usagi of Cherry Hill was a complete and utter Samaritan.

…Except when it came to Tokyo's most eligible bachelor.

But even then! Usagi shook her head. Even then, when his words were driving her crazy and his presence was driving her utterly mad –her stomach danced at his imagined image—even then she held herself as poised as any lady around him possibly could.

But what was he writing in that blasted journal?

The wind swirled through her hair, tangling the strands into articulately strung golden ribbons. Sighing, and with one wistful glimpse behind her, she could only reason that the baka took it and himself, without even a simple 'good day, Odango', and went mysteriously on his way, not bothering for a second to share his obviously guarded valentines day secret.

Not, she reminded herself, that she wanted to know.

Entirely.

"How would I know if it was for Valentines Day anyway?" she muttered. Her finger twisted anxiously at each other. "It probably isn't. It's probably just some ordinary journal, or a schedule keeper…thingy." She shouldered her way into the pedestrian traffic. It didn't _have_ to be a valentine.

But then, Mamoru never wrote in journals.

But then, Mamoru had never been so mysterious or protective of a slip of paper before.

But then… Tomorrow was Valentines Day.

And the look in his eyes when she caught him scribbling in it caused her thoughts to freeze, then tremble, until the quivers shuddered all the way down to tingling toes.

Even if there was another way to justify that book, there was simply no way that God or the devil himself could explain away that guise in his gaze. And it was all, she thought as she stuffed her hands in the deep and silk-lined pockets, for some other girl.

Downright miserable now, Usagi dipped her head low, kicking at various pebbles littering the sidewalk. Her back hunched, her shoulders scooped, she seemed to be this tiny forest fairy floating through industrious sidewalks with an elfin jacket as her only protection. A lonely flake passed her nonchalantly as she walked. For two moments –for what might be the only two moments in her entire life exactly like these ones – she felt as if the very fates were pummeling against her.

And wouldn't you know it, it started to rain.

If Tsukino Usagi, 14, with the classical blonde hair and innocent blue eyes, could curse and not feel guilty for it, she would have cursed seven ways to Sunday, and colorfully enough that the Sopranos themselves would be outright bewildered.

Instead, however, she bundled herself in the amazingly protective coat, and dodged for the quickest cover when thunder rumbled and lightening threatened the skies. Her stomach did mad jumps with every grumble the sky made. Her eyes pressured to close against the enclosing darkness, the clouds seemingly crying with the voiceless shrills echoing through her head.

She didn't look at the store she bolted into. She didn't quite care if it was designated Earl's House of Terror… And then some. The simple fact was that if God had given each person just one fear to consume their entire district of fright, Usagi's would be (and actually was) rain showers. Not so much the 'rain' part, but as the saying went: 'When it rained, it poured'. And more often than not, it poured with fierce thunders and electric lightning.

Very few things, including energy-sucking _youmas_ and clowns, were worse than electric lightning.

"There you are!"

She'd just made it inside, hair dripping, clothes slightly soaked, puddles, tears and all, when the voice plucked her already strung nerves viciously.

"I must have called the agency two hours ago. It's almost time to close and I'm late. Very late. Aren't you guys on eighteenth street? Never mind," the brunette garbled, fiddling with a box. The cheerful nametag pinned to her breast pocket boasted the name 'Keri', but her sleek suit and her shadowy eyes boasted something else all together.

Nevertheless, before Usagi could even deem to consider that 'something else', Keri shoved a box into her hands, complete with red and white bows, and quickly relayed, "This needs to go to Destiny Flowers. You remember where it is, don't you? What's your name again?"

Should she answer? It would be impolite if she didn't. But, she didn't work…Obviously, she wasn't the person this woman was looking for. "I—my name—"

"Quickly now. We're behind schedule."

"But—"

"That's great." A flick of her wrist. "That's…" A quick glance at her watch. "Great…Okay! Well, be quick about. Probably last delivery of the day, huh? Beautiful day for it." She already had a tag in one hand, a phone in the other, and was all together shoving Usagi through the door.

Fear streaked up her spine. "But the rain—"

"Rain?" It was an absent question. One that wasn't really asked, but simply used to fill in those gaps one might use to take breaths. Before Usagi could 'not really' answer, Keri –if that was, indeed, her real name—gave her a once over, murmuring, "You might think about getting that coat dry cleaned."

Defensively, she clutched at it. "Yes, the rain—"

"Rain?" She said again, in the same absent way. "What rain? It's February."

She _knew_ it was February! She wasn't that dense. But it didn't change the fact that it did, in fact, just rain. Not JUST 'rained', she corrected herself, but rained the same rain which illuminated the sky only moments ago, grumbling loudly and lightening up so that it gave the eerie illusion that it was the…

…Sun… Which was actually shining.

Usagi blinked. The sun _was _actually shining. Brightly, cheerful as two Santa's, and with birds whistling in the cherry trees to boot.

What rain, indeed.

"Now here's your tip for the service." Clean and crisp, a 1000 yen bill was pressed onto the box.

Oh for the love of… "Wait, wait. I'm not—"

"Think nothing of it. Think nothing of it. Oh!" With another flick of the wrist –experience as a magician must be a requirement for her line of work— not one, but two cards appeared. "Don't forget these." She positioned them on the lid of the box. "Now remember, the first card is our store's name. The first," she reminded before chattering on to whatever poor soul was on the other end of the phone line.

The door slammed with a jingle. In the ways of the bemused, Usagi could only stand staring at it for three whole minutes before the weight of the box filtered into her head.

Blue and curious, her eyes peered at the card. Her head tilted, curious. "'_Must Have'." _She whispered."Designer Jewellery." Her eyes shot up to the logo of the store before dropping to the second card. What must have been a mimicry of a diamond shone at the corner of the paper beside the elaborately drawn words, _Sparkle of Sea_.

Usagi nearly dropped the box. These people, whoever these people in _'Must Have'_, the jewellery store, were, must be somewhere in the area of 'not-too-bright' to allow one of the most valuable jewels in Japan in the care of a much too young, much too clumsy teenage girl.

The temptation to open the lid, to peek inside, and glimpse at what had to be an awe-inspiring sight, sat heavily on her shoulders and with it, the responsibility. Usagi shook her head fiercely. Well, there was no way that that teenage girl was going to be her! Her hand reached for the handle of the door. So intent was she on the box that, before she even pulled on the suddenly immoveable door, the dangling sign that claimed 'Open', now asserted, in large, bold and fire-engine red letters: Closed.

"What?" Her mouth formed the words. What jewellery store closed at five o'clock?

"Ooooooh…" She would have raked her hands through her hair if either of them were free. "Today really isn't my day."

And it looked like she _was_ going to be that teenage girl after all.

But, just imagine, a nervous giggle bubbled in her throat as she spun on her heel. _She_, Tsukino Usagi, was carrying one of the most valuable jewels in Japan!

That thought alone might have toppled her over had a small boy, no taller than her waist, beat it to the punch. Scarf, tweed jacket, and all, he rammed into her with such a force that her own personal record could have been severely challenged, and left them both situated in rumpled clothing on the sidewalk.

Then, _his_ face materialized into her mind. The face of just _who_ she held that personal record with. Inattentively, she pulled at the damp jacket and thought, for a moment, that it might just be crying for her thoughts.

Not it, she blinked, her nose scrunching in thought. There was whimpering and short sniffles, but it wasn't coming from the jacket. And it wasn't, she grasped as her eyes took in the bundles of strewn, slightly crushed roses, for her thoughts.

She was up in half a second, reaching for the tiny boy. His nose was already turning red in anticipation of the tears to come. His hair was ruffled, either by the fall or by the wind, and bounced the sun's light off every strand. But, it was deeply ebony, and deeply familiar, and had to remind her, once again, of the same man who penetrated her thoughts seconds before, hours earlier, and years preceding.

Whether it was the resemblance, or simply second nature, the blonde immediately fell into her ageless spouts of apologies.

"Omigosh!" She began, "I'm sorry! I'm so sorry! I didn't see you! Are you hurt? Are you dying? Do you need an ambulance?" A sound spurted from her throat when she saw a blooming redness on the boy's knee. "Gomen nasai!"

But, the boy wasn't looking at her. His sniffles still penetrated her mind, and her eyes followed his to the damaged roses littering the ground. All she could think to say was, "these… are they yours?" Then, roll her eyes in mortification, because clearly they were no one else's.

Still, he said, "No." Little lip trembling, he picked up a stem.

Usagi reached out a hand, hoping to soothe him, and was relieved when he didn't pull away. "Are you hurt?" She asked again.

His hand came up, rubbed at his nose. "I'm not crying."

She smiled. "I can see that." But, his eyes, shy and so blue, shimmered with tears. "Whose flowers are they?"

He hesitated for a moment. Every kid on this block knew that you weren't supposed to talk to strangers. It was practically the universal law! But, her smile was so warm, her hair so unbelievably golden, and her eyes… her eyes sparkled like a fairie's. His chin hit his chest. "Mom's. I'm supposed to bring them –carefully," he added, "bring them to a lady." His little lip trembled. "But, they're broke."

He looked so utterly defeated at that confession. The will to scoop him up and hug him was large, but the will to not terrify him was larger. Silence ensued, not so much because Usagi didn't know what to say, but rather what to do.

Her eyes wandered around as if trying to find some hint or signal, some idea, as to make the state of affairs better. At that moment she would have snipped off both odangos if it would have made that little boy –the little boy who looked so much like Mamoru— smile.

But, all she saw was the sidewalk, the leafless trees, the bustling people scurrying across the footpath. All that came into her line of vision was the strip of stores crowding the walkways, business cards from the jewellery store cluttering the ground, the overturned box, Usagi winced, containing the _Sparkle of Sea_, and the 1000 yen bill trapped under it—

Her eyes stilled on the bill as a smile bloomed on her face. "Well, then," she said, "we'll just have to get some more, won't we?"

Large and liquid, his fists rubbed at his eye, his brows drew together. "We will?"

"Of course!" Her hand fisted over the money as she reached for her other delivery. How much can roses possibly cost anyway? "I don't see that we have any choice. Coming?" She held out her hand for him.

But, he scurried to his feet all on his own, nodding with great assurance. He tugged on her skirt. "I know where, too. I know where." With both hands, he held up a tag tied to a limp and lost fallen rose, titled: _Bring Me to You._

Bring me to you? "Is that a store?"

The boy rolled his magnificent blue eyes. "No." Girls. "It's the name of the flower. But," he paused emphatically, "the flower came from my mom's store." With that he looked at her, as if it explained everything, including the mysteries of the universe.

"Right." She took the tag, juggling the box under her arm. "And where is your mom's store?"

"Here."

She looked up, wondering if somehow during their encounter they had moved. "Here?" She pointed to the jewellery store.

He sighed, long and suffering. "No. _There_." Then he pointed to the florist right beside it.

Sure enough, big, bold, and blue, flashed the floral title: _Destiny_ Flowers.

"How… ironic" was all she could really think to say before being tugged through the entrance.

"There you are Haru!" Blonde and beautiful, the woman behind the counter turned her gaze to the boy. "I was wondering what was taking so long. You did go to the right store, didn't you? Right next door, I said, and–" she blinked. "Oh." Then her gaze was all for Usagi. "Didn't you like the flowers?"

It was her turn to blink. "What?"

"The roses. I sent my son, Haru, over to the jewelers to give them to you. Keri said you'd be in." She rounded the counter. "Tsukino Usagi, right?"

Usually Tsukino Usagi would gladly and uninhibitedly grasp anyone's hand for a shake, no stranger to human contact. But, when the woman held out her hand, Usagi could only stare at it curiously, and wondered if she'd just walked into a Dark Kingdom trap.

"I…yes." Usagi admitted. "I'm Tsukino Usagi."

Her smile filled with relief. "I thought so. Your father described you as a small blonde young lady with a rather unique hair style. He said I wouldn't miss you."

"My father?"

"Mhm. He said he was sending you to get a trinket from _Must Have_ Jewelers, which I see you've gotten, and I thought, 'Why not kill two birds'? Not literally of course, but I guess he must not have been aware that we were side-by-side." She paused. "You did get the flowers, didn't you?"

Her mind spun forth, then back, having trouble keeping up. She certainly didn't recall being asked to go anywhere today. "The flowers?" Her hands flexed in the boy's. "Oh. Yes." Her smile was sheepish. "I'm afraid that Haru and I had a bit of a run-in. The flowers are lost to us."

With a deep breath, filled more with affection than exasperation, the woman rolled her eyes to the ceiling, then the silently squirming boy. "I suppose there must be some casualties."

Usagi's fingers rubbed at the bank note, but grimaced when she saw the price tags dangling around the store. "I have some money…"

But, the woman's hands waved madly as she hurried into the back. "Not at all," she called behind her. "Not at all, not at all, not at…" –silence, a clamor— "all. Aha!" She came out carrying a bundle of flora, beams and smiles. "Wasn't your fault, was it? Your father's company is an exceptional client to our business. Here you are," she added as she laid a dozen roses on Usagi's free arm. "Perfect."

The scent wafted into her senses, surrounded her in the glorious flowering perfume. Her heart battered against her ribs and her reflexes ached to bury her face in the bouquet. Her eyes, but God her eyes, would not remove themselves from each perfectly placed red petals.

Perhaps she would have gone staring at the spray had yet another business card not strategically shoved itself right under her nose.

"Now, be careful with these items. Quite expensive. You have to admire the lucky person who's going to get them. A Valentines Day present, I hear. Well," she checked her watch, "best be off. Safe trip now, and be very careful."

Just as she was half way out the door, the woman let a little rumble out of her throat. "You know…" she began, "you should really get that coat dried and cleaned. Or dry-cleaned. It's February."

Yes. How very ironic. "Right," she muttered, shouldering her way through the rest of the door. "And right after that, I'll just go ahead and get the owner of this coat to profess his undying love for me." Her eyes dropped to the box and roses. "Destiny just isn't that reliable."


	4. Gift

_AN: Thanks, Lavvy, for editing these drabbles._

_Disclaimer: I do not own Sailor moon._

* * *

><p><strong><em>Gift.<em>**

"Yes, dear, but I must have told you fifty times yesterday morning to pick up a few things for me."

Usagi sat clad in a heart adorned sweater and skirt, shaking her head furiously. That morning, she had come down promptly at ten o'clock –which was as unusual for Usagi on a Sunday as rain was for winter Tokyo, but with the way things were working out, she didn't see that she had much choice—sat right down in front of astonished parents, and said quite plainly:

"You did not ask me to pick up anything yesterday at any hour of any second of any..." she scrunched her brow, "thing."

She would have said it quite plainly when she came home yesterday, and would have had a whole lot more to say, if her father had the decency to be home. One of the busiest holidays of the year for advertising agencies, her mother reminded her.

But that, Usagi bristled, was beside the point.

So, she continued to shake her head, insisting to no such thing. Unto which her father rolled his eyes, turned to the economy section of the newspaper, and replied with an affirmative, "Yes, I did."

With the way games had been for many centuries, and would be for many more centuries, this particular contest could have gone on for hours and, perhaps, forever. Yet, logic had a habit of making a move to prevent this and, in the form of the quiet Ikuko, it made the move with a simple, "no, honey, you didn't," and left it at just that.

Instead of sputtering in absolute masculine denial, Kenji glanced up at his wife, adjusted the frames of his glasses and said, "didn't I?"

A smile twitched at the corner of Ikuko's mouth. "You know how Usagi is before school. When would you have a moment?"

He seemed to ponder on that. Licking his thumb, then turning a page, he tilted his head in thought, then glanced over at the decorated box and bundle of roses. "Well," he replied with a sunny smile, "it all seemed to have panned out in the end."

"Yes, dear." Ikuko leaned back in her rocking chair, knitting quietly.

Kenji faltered. "How did it happen to pan out, Usagi?"

"She was in the area—"

"And it rained." Usagi finished, her bottom lip poking out in remembrance.

"Rained, you say?" Kenji frowned, puzzled. "In February?"

"Yes, well," Ikuko brushed her violet hair over her shoulder, sighing at the split ends. "We do tend to get all kinds of weather here." She glanced out the window, watched the way the cold light of the sun beamed into the living room. "It was rather warm out yesterday."

Kenji nodded, "that's what I call coincidence."

Someone in the blonde bunny's position might have come up with an entirely different word for it, but, being the blonde bunny that she was, Usagi only muttered incoherently below her breath while playing with the pink bow attached to her lace socks.

"However," her mother continued, "there is a bit of a chill in the air, Usagi, so remember to take a jacket with you today when you go to the dry-cleaners." Ikuko pulled at the ball of yarn for more string. "It's such a shame that your friends' jacket had to be soaked."

A roll of the eyes. "I think he'll survive." And be better for it.

"Yes, well," she cleared her throat, "I have the address of the cleaners written down right here. Azabu," she gave a thoughtful smile to her husband. "That's not terribly far away, is it?"

"Hm? Azabu?" Distracted, he glanced over at his wife. His eyes cleared when he looked over at his daughter, a smile lingering on his lips. "Not at all. You're going to Azabu?"

"Yes, to drop off a coat at the dry-cleaners."

"Oh brilliant!" he grinned, launching out of his chair. "We can kill two birds with one stone."

"Killing birds—?"

"It's an expression, Usagi. Now," he reached for a small, rectangular parcel along with an address scribbled mercilessly on thick paper. "This is the apartment that it's to be delivered to. A block, I believe, from where you'll be headed. Don't lose it," he added.

A delivery girl on Valentines Day, her shoulders drooped, disheartened. When Usagi reached for the package, she couldn't help but feel a stinging twinge at her heart at the thought of all the packets Mamoru was probably receiving at that moment. Or the one gift he was currently delivering himself. Her bottom lip poked out once more.

The package, nonetheless, wasn't as thick as it looked, and so suddenly she had this desperate desire to shake it to her ear like a present on Christmas. "What is it?"

"Probably chocolates. _Kacho_*, Sato-san, usually sends a number of Valentines Day gifts to the men she…" he flushed, trailing off, ending with a cough and a, "admirers."

Usagi looked curiously at her father's reddened face as her mother came up behind Usagi, holding the damp jacket. Ikuko raised her brow. "Usually sends them by Federal Express, doesn't she, dear?"

He really had to clear this block in his throat, the way his daughter and wife were watching him. "Yeah, that is," he grunted once more, "yes, she usually does. However, she told me she wanted this one delivered less professionally. It was a rather cryptic note…" He mumbled.

Ikuko made a non-suggestive hum in her throat. A twin, non-indicative smirk loitered on her logical face as she handed the jacket to Usagi, along with the bundle of roses and jewellery. "Take care, honey. We wouldn't want to ruin the gift for Sato-san's…" She side-glanced to her spouse. "…Admirer."

If a note was cryptic, Usagi thought while she inched her way from the enigmatic atmosphere, her parents went well beyond obscure.

That of which really said nothing about the expressions upon the poor dry-cleaning employee's faces when Usagi handed them Mamoru's jacket, its tweed horribly saddened and its silken lining probably lost to the world forever.

"This silk lining," one woman said, her grey hair curling itself around her accusing eyes, "is probably lost to the world forever."

You don't say… "Could you try to clean it up some?" Usagi asked. "It really isn't as bad as it seems." She thought. Maybe.

The second lady herself didn't look at all optimistic, but took the coat anyway. "What in heaven's name did you do?"

"Me? I didn't _do_ anything—"

"Didn't you?" Her expression was doubtful. "How did it get to be in this condition?"

"Well," Usagi toed the floor. Her hands linked behind her. "I was just walking, you see. At first I was looking for a book on the ground, but I didn't find it and the jacket didn't get dirty then. Anyways, I was walking and then, all of a sudden, out of nowhere, it started to rain—"

"Rain?" The first woman asked in surprise. "Rain in—"

"Yes, February. It rained in February." Lord, she was beginning to sound insane even to her own ears. Usagi, girl, she rubbed at her eyes with her liberated hand, you're losin' it.

Perhaps that was just the thought going through the women's minds, so skeptical were their looks. In any case, the fact still remained that the jacket had been drenched at one point, now retained a soiled look to it, and, somehow, somewhere, it had gotten to be that way.

"Let's just say that somehow, somewhere, it had gotten to be this way. We'll see what we can do with it." The second woman smiled encouragingly, patting Usagi on the shoulder, before hooking the green tweed to a mobile shaft.

Usagi leaned her elbows on the counter. "I really do hope you can save it, somehow. It isn't the most handsome coat in the world," –quite the opposite of its proprietor— "but it is quite cherished by the owner, and he entrusted it to me." Her teeth nibbled worriedly on her lower lip as she watched the coat spin away from her.

"Boyfriend?" The lady in grey hair brushed at a curl, and Usagi wondered enviously if it was natural.

"Oh –haha." There was that twang again. "No. Just a…" Crush. Desire. Wish. Craving. "Friend."

"I see." Something in her eyes told Usagi that she really did see. "Well, today is a day for miracles, isn't it? And the ones concerning the heart are the most important. Here you go," she handed Usagi a ticket before Usagi could ponder on whether they were still speaking of the coat or something –rather, some_one_—else all together.

Upon the ticket read the words _CUE_. Puzzled, Usagi glanced up. The lady smiled. "You just hand that back to whomever when the jacket is returned to you." Then, she held up a hand before Usagi could turn to leave. "Because it's Valentines Day, the store has a policy of giving Sweetarts to the patrons. They seem to enjoy it," she said with a shrug.

While Usagi had always set love at the top of her list of Absolute Must Haves, candy was a close second, and this kind in particular seemed to brighten her day just a bit. When she unwrapped the binding of the candy, however, the expected 'Be Mine' message was not present on the heart-shaped sweet. Instead, the words '_Chance You a Lead_' sat there, nearly glimmering in the place of sunlight.

"Well, how lucky!" The cloudy-haired cashier beamed. "This must be a blessed day for you. I wasn't aware that we actually had any of these this year."

Usagi wondered if it would taste any different. "What is it?"

"Well, it's a candy," she explained. "Mostly a candy. But it also acts as a voucher so that your dry-cleaning will be finished before the others. That's what it means by _Lead_, you see. Among other things." She leaned in conspiratorially. "Blessed by gypsies, y'know."

Usagi's eyes went wide, her mouth rounded with amazement. By gypsies? You didn't see gypsies around anymore, and after Disney's The Hunchback of Notre Dame, the astonished girl had no doubt that they were miraculous to the core. "Really?"

"Really. It isn't supposed to enhance chances so much as… speed things along. So this here candy might chance you a lead in an area of your life." She winked and then, in a voice that was barely audible, mumbled, "In a couple minutes then?"

With all the hopes whispering in her ears, Usagi only heard the gentle hum of the wind sliding against the windows. Shuffling her boxes, she carefully placed the candy into her coat pocket, chirping a meaningful, "thank you!" and skipping out the door. She desperately hoped, perhaps hoped beyond hope, that the gifted candy might bring up any chance she might have had in the near future. Especially if this was her 'blessed day'.

It wasn't until she reached the end of the block that she realized she had absolutely no idea where she was going. "Which feels much like yesterday," she sighed, plucking the address from her pocket. "Door six-six-three of Apartments: Azabu." With a sound of disgust, she stuffed the note back into her coat. "Do you know how many apartments are in Azabu?" When nobody answered she merely glanced at the street sign adorning the corner street, and replied, "I even think Juban is in Azabu."

Perhaps it wasn't to be her Blessed Day after all.

Yet, when she turned her head, scanning the buildings in anticipation that she might recognize _something_, her eyes landed ideally on a stylishly golden slogan entitled: **Azabu Apartments**.

For the second time that day, she was in absolute awe. The building stood at twelve stories high, and the border of the building looked to be sketched in marble. The window winked at her haughtily as she drew closer, and she could have sworn she heard classical music purring from inside the foyer. If this was the living place of Sato-san's… admirer… then he really must be something close to a prince. Perhaps, she thought sullenly as she picked at her casual outfit, her father's boss should have sent such special gifts through FedEx. Or by chariot.

Quit feeling sorry for yourself, Usa! She snapped. You're beginning to sound like Rei-chan. Yet, even as she lectured herself, she couldn't help but notice the elaborate door handle, the extravagant door _man_, the marble floors and chandelier lighting.

"Can I help you?"

Usagi nearly jumped out of her skin. She flushed immediately. The woman behind the granite counter tapped her expensive nails delicately—and impatiently.

Usagi giggled nervously. "Yes, actually." She gulped awkwardly. "I have to deliver these boxes…"

"Deliveries are made out back." The woman relayed smoothly. Her eyes were ice-cold when they looked over her outfit, top to bottom. "On Saturdays."

The grand walls had a funny way of closing in on fourteen-year-olds. "Oh…" Usagi trailed off, looking for the words. "We didn't – that is, the person who wanted this delivered wanted it delivered today and," she stumbled, "and professionally." Then, she squeezed her eyes. "I mean, not professionally." She just wasn't used to being the benefactor of such a chilling stare!

Not professionally. "Are you quite sure you have the right building then?"

She said it with such preciseness, such frost, and such perfect annunciation that all of a sudden Usagi wasn't so sure she had the right planet.

But, then time snapped, and it was as if the very building itself had opened up, as if her very heart squeezed shut in abrupt palpations.

"Odango?"


	5. Valentine

_AN: Thanks, Lavvy, for editing these drabbles._

_Disclaimer: I do not own Sailor moon._

* * *

><p><strong><em>Valentine.<em>**

"Odango?"

Her back went pin straight. The voice was smooth, deep, and slinked up her spine. The nerves that ensued feathered her stomach until not one body part was left untouched. His face immediately fabricated in her mind sheer seconds before it became solid and real, feet in front of her own. Her mouth opened, then closed when no sound came out. She tried again, but only succeeded in looking like a guppy fish.

"Chiba-san!"

Ever so cool, ever so calm and collected, the sleek professional behind the counter now staggered with her papers, pens and sophisticated words. Yet, Mamoru, calm, cool, and collected by nature, kept his eyes keenly on the cemented blonde bunny. He murmured for a second time, taking a step forward, "Odango." Only this time it was a statement.

His eyes, oh God, his eyes are so blue. "Mamoru…" She said, finally. Her hands gripped the gifts in her arms so acutely that the very fibre of the material cut a sliver of thought into her mind. Immediately, her arms lifted, nearly spilling the roses to the floor. "I have a delive…Deliver- ah…" What was it called? "Delivery."

He took another step forward. His so-blue eyes flickered down before converging with hers again. "So, I see."

"You live here?" She blurted out.

"Of course, he lives here."

Squaring his jaw, he pierced the lady behind the granite counter with a cutting look that promptly choked her words. "What are you doing here, Usagi?"

Why was she there again? "I have a delivery."

A smile itched on his lips. "Yes, you mentioned that. For who?"

"Six-six…" Three? "Three. You _live_ here." She demanded again, not seeming to get her mind around that. But, he lived here? In this palace?

He shifted his shoulders, and it was then that she realized he was carrying something. A present perhaps? A gift? Jealousy swarmed her stomach, but she immediately stomped down on it with a heart of despair.

"I live here." He answered. He stood two feet from her. The heat from his body smoldered with hers. "In fact, I live exactly here." He lifted her wrist, covered the sensitive skin of her hand that held the address. His voice rumbled like the brief thunder storm of yesterday.

Oh Lord… He was touching her. He had touched her before, but this seemed different. And amazing. "Here?" she squeaked.

His brow lifted a tiny bit in acknowledgement, as if to say, coincidence? Design?

"Well, then, these are…" Yours. She fumbled with the gifts in her attempt to hand them over, but the thought beat through her like a drum. He had a girlfriend. Of course, he had a girlfriend.

With a silent huff, the woman with the cold eyes and granite counter analyzed the situation to the best of her knowledge. Obviously one of his admirers, she thought, patronizing. One batting pitifully out her league, too, and pretending –unsuccessfully, she thought—to be a delivery girl. Six-six-three, indeed.

"Chiba-san, I'm terribly sorry," she said in her best refined voice. Classy, she smiled serenely. That was the type of female that hung on this man's arm, and for months now she'd been striving to place herself just there. "I'll just escort this child out the door this instant."

Mamoru's grip tightened dramatically on Usagi's wrist. "Miss, when I am in need of your assistance I'll inform you. Now," he continued, even as the woman lost her arm-deserving composure, "I believe you had a delivery to make."

"Right." She should have expected it. She _had_ expected it, but she hadn't actually expected _this_. "Here you are." It was all she could do to keep her eyes from watering.

Instead of taking the presents from her, he tugged on her wrist until she was trailing behind him, stumbling over herself. "Wait—where are we going?"

"To my apartment." He flashed a grin. "To deliver."

She tripped after him as he strode to the elevator. She might have lingered on her depressing thoughts, but it was quite hard juggling two boxes and a bundle of roses in one arm. "Mamoru-baka," she said exasperatedly, "I don't think I need to go to your apartment so long as I actually deliver the packages to you."

"Manners, Odango," he chastised tauntingly. Pressing for the sixth floor, he said, "what if I was sitting at home instead of returning from the dry-cleaners?"

"You weren't."

"But, what if I was?"

"You _weren't_," she insisted.

"Odango," his words tempered vexation, but tangled with the affection that beamed from his smile.

"Mamoru," Usagi sighed. "Why won't you take your parcels?"

He raised his brow. "They're not mine."

"Not yours?" She frowned, even as a mixture of concern and relief spread into her gut. If they weren't his… "But, you said—"

"That I lived here," he finished, and with a gallant sweep of his arm, the elevator chimed and the doors opened. "The parcels, however, belong to you."

"Me?" Puzzled and a touch bewildered, Usagi followed him over the plush carpet to a blue painted door and wondered, perhaps, if the poor man hit his head that day. "No. Mamoru, your girlfriend…"

"Seems," he interrupted under his breath, jingling his keys into the lock, "to be taking her time accepting a gift."

"What?"

He did not answer, but simply swung her into the dwelling. Simultaneously, he unloaded his own cargo on the hook nailed to the door as he closed it, and did it with such precision that Usagi's earlier thought of it as a gift invaded her once more.

But, when she looked, all that greeted her was the exact same jacket she'd dropped off not twenty minutes ago. Except that it was clean, spotless, and nearly sparkling.

How many jackets did he have? She looked at him accusingly. "How many jackets do you have?" Then added, "Chiba!" Just to make herself sound intimidating.

A grin, heart-breaking, and gorgeous, grew in amusement. "Just one, Odango," he answered with such warmth. "I just picked it up from the cleaners."

"I… but I _just_ dropped it off!" She gawked. "And how did you know? How is clean? How… how?"

"Gypsies." He said it so solemnly that, even if she were a disbeliever, she'd have trusted him completely. "I believe the only requirement is that you hand it back to whomever," he quoted, "when the jacket is returned to you."

Usagi's hand flew to the _CUE _tag inside her pocket, then the candy along side it. When she attempted to draw it out, he stilled her with a look. "I don't think I need the cue just yet."

"Oh…'kay." His eyes were saying something else entirely, and all the answers to the events within the past twenty-four hours lingered in them. She might have come up with an entirely different and more lucrative response, but all she could manage was an 'oh… kay'.

"You need to open the package first." There was no question as to which package needed to be opened as he plucked the bundle of roses and jewellery box from her arms.

He was hiding something, she thought, even as her fingers tore into the wrapper. It would probably be just like him, and the glimpses of affection she'd seen briefly that day and the day before were simply figments of her pitiful imagination. If that was the case, she pulled the paper away, then her heart would shatter, absolutely rupture to pieces. And he would have to die…

Her thoughts ended on that when she took her first look at the liberated parcel, and came into direct contact with the journal.

_The_ journal.

The disappearing journal itself.

The Valentines Day gift journal.

Her lips parted on a breath.

"I'd lost the journal yesterday."

Pressure clogged in her throat.

"There's only one entry in there."

His hands ran over hers before lifting the cover.

"There was only one thing that consumed all of my thoughts."

It was printed in bold words that held a hint of fanciful font in each letter. The very bequest she'd been dying to receive. The very thing she'd been dying to find out. The very words she'd been dying to read.

**The gods _ beamed every star in the blue,**

**Must have lit every _,**

**On the chance that they'd finally _,**

**And seal our _**

**So I pray that these notes might well give them the _,**

**When I write what might _**

**And perchance, they'd bring you to me.**

The very words she was still dying to read, she mused sardonically, as her hands ran over the cutout spaces in each line. She looked up at him, beneath her eyelashes. "Do you always cut out sentences when writing?"

He leaned back on his heels, looking very masculine in his black sweater and khaki pants. The tan of his arms shadowed the muscles in them, and they fluxed as he watched her. "Of course not." The look he shot her injected dozens of tiny bullets through her system. "Why do you ask?"

She lifted the journal. "Words are missing, it would seem."

"No," he said, then, with such confidence, that her head snapped up. "They'd always been out of there and in the world the entire time. Yesterday, I'd thought you might need a pocket to put them in." With that, he reached into the pouch of the green tweed jacket.

"You didn't have one yesterday," he persisted when she said nothing, "and you seemed to need it." Stacked neatly together, he pulled out all four cards she accumulated the day before. "Fortunately, you had your own today."

Her hand flexed on the papers and candy in her coat's compartment, drawing them out in the same orderly fashion.

Large, almost dangerous, and with a devilish glint hinting from his eye, he placed the four cards in her hand and drew the book from her fingers, which he positioned on the mahogany end table.

"I hadn't ever finished it. Even when I'd begun writing it for you, just for myself, some words didn't seem to make it through my thoughts." His smile was wry and secretive, and she desperately wanted to know what he was thinking. "I hadn't even intended for you to see it. If I'd give it to you, and you rejected it—" his jaw worked, contracted. He turned to the book. "But, then, you came in yesterday when I was struggling to finish it, demanding to know what I was writing. You were so little –you'd always been so little. Small and delicate with a great amount of passion." His fingers lingered over the cutouts as he turned to face her, evaluating every strand of her hair, every lash of her eye. "Sometimes," his voice went increasingly low, "it takes every muscle in my body not to reach out and grab you, and never let go."

Her hands shook slightly, and she clung to the papers as if they were an anchor. She wanted to throw herself at him, into his arms, and perform the same action he admitted to want. Dreams and wishes only came true in fairytales, that rational voice in her mind said. But, here he is, she thought. Standing there, looking a touch uncomfortable, and saying those words she'd always desired to hear from him, and only him.

Uncomfortable or not, he looked as if he was going to do the very thing he restrained himself from doing. As an alternative, he pushed the book in her direction.

Her hand floated of its own will, chronologically placing each card in each outline until the words merged with the sentences, and one candy, blessed by gypsies as the story went, decorated the entry perfect. And so it read:

**The gods **_**Must Have**_** beamed every star in the blue,**

**Must have lit every **_**Sparkle of Sea**_**,**

**On the chance that they'd finally **_**Bring Me to You**_**,**

**And seal our **_**Destiny**__**.**_

**So I pray that these notes might well give them the **_**Cue**_**,**

**When I write what might **_**Chance You a Lead**_**:**

_**Door six-six-three of Apartments: Azubu**_

**And perchance, they'd bring you to me.**

His fingers trembled into her view. She frowned, confused. Mamoru never trembled, so confident and solid was he.

"I had hoped that this journal, this poem, would give you to me somehow. Not give," he corrected. "Carry. Carry to me."

He took her hand as if it were his lifeline. If music could only play for two people, then the wind hummed it for them.

"We're meant to be, Usako."

Wide, clear, absolutely eloquent, she lifted her gaze to his.

"I know. Mamo-chan."

Heat flashed in his eyes, even as his brow, that damnable, mocking brow, quirked up.

A smile, sweet as sugar, spread over her face, and her toes subconsciously twisted themselves on the ground. Upturned and nonsensical to ordered and perfect, the world seemed right again. "I always wondered if you'd ever figure it out." Her fingers curled around his.

He hesitated a moment before giving into temptation and slipping around her waist. "Unlike a certain someone, I knew from the very beginning."

"You never said anything." Liberated, her hand traced up his chest.

"Yes, well," he bent down enough so that nose rubbed against her temple. "You threw me off with your lurid displays of annoyance and displeasure."

"You're imagining things." Had his hair always been this soft? This rich?

"I didn't think so. You were always so furious with me," he smiled at the memory. "It wasn't until you sat in front of me yesterday, stubborn and forever curious, that I first glimpsed at something I'd never seen in your expression."

"Love?" She bit at her tongue.

He nodded. "Love."

His hand lifted to her chin, cupped it. "I waited three months for you to look at me like that. I needed to prove it to you. So I left my jacket in hopes that you would take it, in hopes that fate would take the reins."

"Mamo-chan…"

He put a finger to her lips. "Not yet, Usa. You have this amazing ability to distract me, Usako. And, perhaps, later, I'll let you." There was that devil's glint again. His lips nearly touched hers as he leaned closer. "But, its Valentines Day, isn't it?"

Usagi could only flush and nod, wondering when she'd be able to see what he tasted like.

He reached for the jewellery box on the table. "I bought this for you a while ago. I didn't know when I was going to give it to you. But, you always were impatient, scurrying to get from this place to that." He flipped the lid open. "You seem to have beaten me to the punch."

It was a ring. A gold ring, the band intricately decorated with a vine that wrapped around a single sapphire. "Like your eyes," he said as he took it from its bed.

"Mamo-chan," she said, and lingered on the name before meeting his stare. "This is no ordinary jewel."

"Nothing is ordinary when it comes to you," he said under his breath.

"But _Mamo-chan_," she insisted. "This is—it's—," she huffed. _She_ was stubborn? "You didn't have to get me anything, least of all this. I can't take this!"

"Nothing else would do," he said simply, then glanced up at her guilty expression. "Usa," he relished the word. "This is much more than a gift. It's a promise." He slid it half way on the third finger of her right hand. "I'm asking much more of you than you are of me."

Years sung in his voice. Mere decades and measly centuries danced with his hair. They had that saying, '_Live forever in a moment'_. She never understood what it meant –how could a person live forever in a limited amount of time?—and after that she might still ponder of the meaning. But, for them, in that moment, and on that day, forever was unlimited.

So, she said, "I don't think so." Because, she really didn't think he was asking anything different than she was.

He pulled her swiftly against him as if those very words were all it took to snap his control. His lips brushed at hers with promise, before pausing. "Have I told you yet that I love you?"

"Not yet." She stretched up on her toes to meet his mouth.

He sank into her, drowning. His hand tightened on her waist. "Have you told me?"

A sound of frustration pulled at her throat. "I've been telling you my entire life." She'd been waiting to taste him her entire life. She tugged his head down.

"Tell me now," he demanded softly, his lips leaving tiny kisses on her jaw, her cheeks, her neck.

"I love you." She closed her eyes. Her hands raked through his hair. "I love you, I love you, I love you."

"I love you." His breath was quickening with his pulse. He took her right hand, fingered the ring. His eyes drowned in hers. "Be mine, Usako. Today. Tomorrow." He kissed the skin tingling just above the sapphire. "For the rest of our lives, and then some."

So suddenly, the world, the fates, the complexity of destiny seemed to assemble in perfect order. Joy nearly burst from the seams as she clung to his arms. She would have time tomorrow to wonder over the miracle that happened to her that day. She would have time for the rest of her life to ponder over how she'd gotten just what she wanted by simply…Breathing.

But, today, she traced the line of his jaw. "Will you give me my flowers?"

Scrutinizing, as if memorizing every last detail to her face with the same gaze she'd seen him use in prior occasions, his smile broadened to absolute beauty. "I think," he began, circling her around until he had her back up against the wall, "that I'll take that _cue_ first."

Excitement jumped in her belly. With his face looming close to hers, with their breaths intermingling and their hearts beating in unison, Usagi gave him the only answer to the only question that would ever matter:

Be mine?

"Okay."

_End._

* * *

><p>*<em>Kacho<em> is a Japanese expression used when an employee addresses ones boss. The terms '-san' and '-sama' also work in this context, but I'm complex and a keener, and you'll have to indulge me. ^^


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